“After hearing that my colleagues were viewing New Moon this afternoon for Worst Movie of the Week, I realized that I couldn’t cower in the closet any longer.
I know what you’re thinking: How does this happen to a guy? I couldn’t even tell you. I got my ass handed to me by Let the Right One In. And then there was True Blood. And then the True Blood reruns and just about every cult vampire flick made in the last two decades…and one day I did it. I’ll just hit and quit it, I thought. No one has to know about this. I shelled out the $12.50—that’s right, I didn’t even stumble upon it via On Demand or something. I saw it in theaters—and gave the confused preteen next to me with acne, pigtails, and braces my best STFU face. Six months, one movie, and all four books later, I’m one of those certifiable Twihards with advance-purchase tickets.
Go ahead. Liken me to your twelve-year-old niece. Order me a subscription to Tiger Beat. Elect me mayor of Pansyville. I’ve heard it all and I’m not even gonna qualify my addiction with a bunch of lame-ass excuses. What I am gonna do is tell you why you should go ahead and cave in to your girlfriend’s pleas to see the sequel and save your chick-flick veto for the next McConaughey movie. (New Moon may be a tween-magnet, but it‘s no Ghosts of Girlfriends Past) Here, the case for Twilight.”